


the dirt in which our roots may grow

by apricae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Adoptive family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bakery AU, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, barely any plot it’s all fluff, good dad qui-gon jinn, self-indulgent au let’s go, silliness, toddler obi-wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: “Where are you going so early, then?”“On an exploring journey,” he replies, face comically serious as he corrects the hat on his head. “I’m going to exca- exac- to dig,” he eventually settles on, patting the side pocket on his rucksack where the plastic handle of a garden trowel pokes out.—In which Obi-Wan heads outside on a nice spring morning, and Qui-Gon is endlessly fond of him.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 30
Kudos: 119





	the dirt in which our roots may grow

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for enabling me, alex
> 
> part 1/??? of the bakery au where qui-gon is a happy single father living in the countryside and running a bakery with his adopted son.

After breakfast, Qui-Gon is left watching his son race off with a hurried “ _thankyouverymuch”_ and not much else, having finished his egg and toast at revolutionary speeds. He’s only four-and-a-half, and still crawls up the stairs on all fours, having learned the hard way to not trust his budding sense of balance just yet - it had taken a week for the bump on his forehead to go down. 

He sips at his morning coffee, skimming the newspaper while half listening to the distant rummaging noises drifting down from the second floor. 

Ten minutes later, Obi-Wan comes shuffling back down to the kitchen, clinging one-handed to the railing and side-stepping a pile of books and magazines with the kind of wobbly grace only children have. His other hand drags a little canvas rucksack behind him, the contents rattling with each step. Smiling, Qui-Gon thinks he can spot the ear of Benjamin the Bunny poking out of the zipper.

“Where are you going so early, then?”

Obi-Wan halts in the kitchen doorway. He makes a charming picture: On his head, a rather floppy felt safari hat that he’d brought home from a birthday party, and around his neck a bandana tied into a knot at the front like a boy scout. He tugs the rucksack onto his back, tightening the straps with an air of solemnity. 

“On an exploring journey,” he replies, face comically serious as he corrects the hat on his head. “I’m going to exca- exac- to _dig,_ ” he eventually settles on, patting the side pocket on his rucksack where the plastic handle of a garden trowel pokes out. 

“I see,” says Qui-Gon, nodding. “May your excavation bring results. Come back in for lunch, please?”

“I will!” Obi-Wan promises with a smile as bright as the morning sun, and vanishes into the hall, returning with his yellow rain boots in hand and crossing to the back door, shoving it open and sitting down on the doorstep to pull his boots on, carefully tucking the pant leg in. 

“Have a good trip,” Qui-Gon calls out, waving goodbye to his adventurous boy as he vanishes down the steps into the back garden, leaving only the afterimage of bright-red hair and the echo of his cheerful “ _bye-bye!”_

—

The back garden is a whole land of its own. Obi-Wan loves it; the swish-swish of tall grasses, the croaking of frogs from the pond, the sweet smell of fallen apples, the glittering dew on every leaf and stone. Soft, springy moss underfoot, mud and frog-spawn, beetles and dragonflies and snails with their slimy trails.

“Day twenty-one,” he murmurs to himself, mimicking the mustached scientist man he’d seen on the old-timey black-and-white film reel he and Papa had found at the museum. “We’re approaching site three, where the team has discovered a sar- _sacrophagus._ ” 

Splish, splash of his boots in the little puddles left by the night rain. He points towards his destination.

“Over there! Begin the exacvacation!” 

By the frog pond, a muddy and grass-free patch. He deposits his bag on a stone, fishing for the tools he brought: Sticks with painted ends to mark different sites, the trowel, and a tiny sieve from his crate of bath toys. 

Eager, he digs and digs. The muddy earth gives easily, stains his boots and his trousers and his hands. But after what feels like hours of rummaging around in the muck, his efforts still show nothing. No sarcophaguses. No dinosaurs. Squatting back on his heels, Obi-Wan pouts. What’s the point of an archeological dig if you don’t find anything at all?

But there! Right in by the rock, half hidden in the mud. His fingertips sting with the cold as he washes the snail shells in the pond, carefully wiping off the grit and dirt. Stripy and brown and red and yellow. Big, big shells. Perfect, actually, not even a little bit broken. Wiping his hands on his jumper, he nudges Benjamin the Bunny aside to find the plastic bucket - previously a yoghurt container - labeled with his name in Papa’s big grown-up writing.

The shells make a nice sound as he drops them into the bucket - clink, clink, clink.

Heartened by his discovery, Obi-Wan moves on, deciding to go all the way to the mossy garden wall, watching his feet. He’s allowed out with boots on, but even so, Papa said there might be snakes by the garden wall, and he can’t imagine a scarier thing than stepping on one, all those sharp teeth and maybe even venom. 

“Hellooooo? Anybody home?” He knocks on the stones for good measure. “I promise I won’t step on you! At least not on purpose!”

No snakes come to dispute the claim, so he breathes a sigh of relief broken by an excited gasp. Beneath the leafy bush nestled up against the garden wall, tiny white bones in a row. Squatting down, he pushes the greens out of the way, squinting at it. 

“Poor mouse,” he says softly. “Don’t look, Benjamin.” 

Obi-Wan recalls strict instructions never to touch dead things with his bare hands. Frowning a little, he grabs one of the wide leaves, using it to brush the bones onto his trowel, dumping them into the bucket. They sound like tiny sticks, but none of them break, so he’s happy. It’s not a dinosaur, but it’s a skeleton at least!

“Day twenty-five,” he pronounces. “Success!”

—

It’s a little before lunchtime when Qui-Gon hears footsteps on the garden stairs. Abandoning his knitting, he goes to let in the brave explorer, and is greeted with the sight of an extraordinarily muddy, extremely enthusiastic boy.

“Papa, papa, look!” Tiny hands lift his little plastic bucket, an excited wiggle overtaking him. “I found so many _speciemens_!” 

The technical terms aren’t quite down pat yet, but he’s only a toddler, and Qui-Gon is understanding. Besides, the slight mispronunciation is terribly endearing, so he isn’t about to correct him on it.

“Did you? Let me see.” He kneels down to peer into the bucket, chuckling as he’s greeted with the sight of four snail shells, what looks like a collection of mouse bones, three earthworms wriggling on a leaf, and two dead spiders.

“That’s a lot of great things you found, Obi,” he praises, but pauses to point at the worms. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to take those back out, dear. They’re alive, and they like it best in the dirt.”

The boy’s face falls. “But they’re so cute!”

“I know, Obi-Wan, but they don’t like being inside, and we have to be nice to living things. Come, we can bring them to the compost, they’ll have a nice time there.”

Realizing that it’s not up for debate, Obi-Wan nods, picking the worms out of the bucket and handing them over, saying a silently dejected goodbye to his slimy new friends.

“After we get back and have lunch, we can clean up your new specimens, all right?”

How easy it is to bring his child joy. All at once, Obi-Wan’s freckled face lights up, the sunshine spilling back into his bright eyes as he reaches for Qui-Gon’s hand. 

“Will you label them for me, pretty please?”

“Of course,” he says, heart warm and bursting, gently squeezing the tiny hand that fits so perfectly into his own. “I look forward to it.”

  
  



End file.
